Page 59 of The Only Heart that Matters
GUS
I own the place.
What time?
MIA
6:00? It’ll be me and Sawyer.
GUS
Perfect.
MIA
Okay. See you tomorrow. We can brush up on our fun facts to make sure we know each other well enough to keep this fake marriage up.
GUS
It’s a date.
The alarm on my phone goes off, letting me know my lunch is over. Tucking my phone in the front pocket of my navy scrubs, I do my best to shove the butterflies in my stomach back in their cage so I can focus on the rest of my afternoon.
If only it were that easy.
Angus McKinnon is a stubborn man and if I let him take up space in my head and let’s be real, my heart, there isn’t much that can be done.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mia
“Hey, buddy. How are those yummy goldfish?” I kiss my sweet boy on the head as I bring the first few dishes to the table.
“Yummy, fish!” Sawyer says from his high chair as he pops another one into his mouth. I’ve been an anxious mess while prepping dinner, and for my sanity, knowing he was safe and sound in one place was a must. A high chair tray full of crackers has done the trick.
“Let’s hope Gus Gus is as enthusiastic as you.”
The moment I set homemade guacamole and tortilla chips on the kitchen table, there’s a knock on the door. As if he’s conducting the orchestra of butterflies inside my belly that only perform when Angus is around, they begin their symphony.
It’s 5:55. Angus is five minutes early, just like I knew he would be. Five minutes early has always been on time for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stood outside and watched the clock not knocking until the second 5:55 hit.
That would be adorable.
However, the wordadorablehits the road when I open the door and the icy evening breeze gusts into the house. There is nothing adorable about the man standing on the other side of the threshold. His fresh shave has erased the stubble usually gracing his face by this time of day, and if I’m not mistaken, he just got a haircut. I’ve seen him in his gray Carhart jacket and jeans a million times. He usually pairs his daily uniform of a T-shirt and jeans with his sexy-as-sin work boots; however, tonight, he’s wearing cowboy boots.
Holy. Shit.
Was he serious when he said this was a date?
No.
Uh, uh.
No way.
I’m reading too much into his appearance. He probably has an actual date after our dinner. Just because I changed five times before he got here and did my hair in just as many styles, doesn't mean he went out of his way to look good.
“You gonna invite me in, Goof?”
